


A Little Overwhelmed

by Tomstinkerbell



Series: Little Encounters [3]
Category: Loki (Marvel) - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Ageplay, Angst, Comfort, D/s, DDLG, Daddy Dom Loki, Daddy Kink, Emotional upset, F/M, Fear, Hurt, Mention of childhood sexual abuse, NSFW, Sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 17:33:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12017670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomstinkerbell/pseuds/Tomstinkerbell
Summary: Another in the Little Encounters Series.WARNING:  There is a mention of child sexual abuse!!  If that bothers you, please don't read this.  This work contains sexualized Daddy kink, Ageplay, DD/lg, Daddy Dom Loki.  If any of that bothers you, please don't read this.Another where I'm posting it because otherwise, I'll tweak it into non-existence.This could be considered the Loki/Littlest version of "Finding Peanut", so if you didn't like that, you're really not going to like this.





	A Little Overwhelmed

**Author's Note:**

> Another in the Little Encounters Series.
> 
> WARNING: There is a mention of child sexual abuse!! If that bothers you, please don't read this. This work contains sexualized Daddy kink, Ageplay, DD/lg, Daddy Dom Loki. If any of that bothers you, please don't read this.
> 
> Another where I'm posting it because otherwise, I'll tweak it into non-existence.
> 
> This could be considered the Loki/Littlest version of "Finding Peanut", so if you didn't like that, you're really not going to like this.

“Cum for me, little one.  That’s my good girl,” he encourages, using that particularly warm, loving voice you’ve noticed that he reserves specifically for your little when he’s doing adult things to her, knowing full well that he has spent so much time building you up, yet denying you release that – having finally given his permission, there is no way he’s going to be able to stop you at this point.

 

Then he makes things infinitely worse as he continues to stroke you languidly – refusing to speed up even when your climax is imminent - while you are helpless in his arms, deliberately lowering his voice an octave or so and embodying it with just enough of a scolding warning to put you over the brink.

 

“Do as your daddy says, babylove.”

 

He’s known Littlest for about six months, but things didn’t become sexual until very recently.  This is really only the second or third time that he’s touched her intimately, although he’s been incredible with her from the start about it, deliberately allowing that side of things to develop very organically.  He is indescribably sweet and gentle and consciously undemanding with her – in fact, he’s never asked her to see to him overtly in any way, spending almost of that special time together with her seeing to her.  He always looks out for her as he’s coaxing her higher and higher, trying to make sure she’s not scared of what he’s doing and that everything he does only adds to her pleasure, because pleasing her delights him to no end.

 

But - this one particular time - when he’d brought you to such a towering height then tipped you over it again and again and again, and even though you’re being held within the ultra secure confines of his arms - seconds afterwards - when Loki is just about to cuddle you to him in the incredible poignancy of the aftermath, you have already managed to slip away from him – since he didn’t expect that you were going to want to leave – dressing haphazardly while you’re on the way to the door, as if you suddenly couldn’t get out of there – and away from him - fast enough.

 

He lies there for a moment, just watching you, obviously stunned.  “Are you all right, Littlest?” he asks from the bed, where he’s been left suddenly bereft and confused by your behavior.

 

“Fine.  Sorry.  Gotta go.”  Trying to remain firmly in big and not doing a very good job of it, you know you have to keep it short and sweet or you are going to lose it entirely in front of him, and that is the very last thing you wanted to do, your body still contracting softly in the wake of the stark, raw feelings he conjured in you so effortlessly.

 

He appears at the door then, standing between you and it unconcernedly naked and unabashedly aroused, murmuring softly but quite possessively, “You can’t possibly think that I’m going to allow you to leave just like that.  I’m not nearly done with -”

 

And then he notices that you are trying to hide from him the fact that you are fighting back tears, and that the tears are winning.

 

“ – you yet,” he finishes distractedly, considering you intently.  “Dearest heart, what is it?” he whispers with great concern, reaching out to touch you, but you shrink violently away from him, missing how horrified he looks that you did that because you can’t bring yourself to look at him.

 

“Don’t!  Please.  It’ll only m-make it w-worse.”  You close your eyes as even more copious tears spill down your cheeks while you try to keep your sentences short and sweet because you really can’t even begin to think straight, and you know it’s only going to get worse from here.  “Please. Just . . . let me go,” you plead pitifully.

 

For all of the emphasis, his, “ _Absolutely_ not,” is nonetheless calm and quiet.  Then he frowns fiercely.  “Have I hurt you?  If I have, I -”  He sounds completely appalled at the idea.

 

But you shake your head vehemently, feeling the ability to speak slipping away from you as your emotions take over, and all you want to do is go home, curl up into a ball on your bed and cry until there’s nothing left in you – _of_ you.

 

He had been quite sure that that was it, although he also thought he had been fairly scrupulous about tempering his strength with you – especially since he knew you had remained little throughout, which had been his aim.  But then, Loki isn’t absolutely sure that he can trust you to inform him of it if he did, even though he had made certain to institute that as one of your few rules – that he expected you to tell him if something he was doing was hurting you in a bad way. 

 

Searching for a cause for the strange behavior you are exhibiting, he probes gently, “Did I do something you didn’t like, poppet?” taking a step towards you, his hand out to soothe you, but you jump back again, eyes open wide and starkly terrified.

 

Your arms even go up in front of you automatically, as if to protect yourself from him.  However ridiculous the attempt, you couldn’t stop yourself from doing it.  It’s Little’s reaction, although you are really trying to keep yourself Big.  “Stop, please.  I - I n-need to be alone.”

 

Remaining where he is for the moment, Loki balks at that idea.  “Forgive me, lovely, but, as your Daddy, I am of a mind that that is the _last_ thing you need.  I am not certain what the problem is, but surely it will be easier to face with my arms around you, as well as my not inconsiderable powers at your disposal.”

 

Despite his words, his hands are at his sides, and he forces himself to stay completely still, not wanting to do anything that might add to your distress, but your behavior has him very puzzled and extremely concerned, his chest aching painfully at your obvious sadness, but much, much more so for the fear in your eyes, which had him wanting to do literally _anything_ to wipe that look from your face. 

 

So he tries again, taking a different tack.  “If I’m not mistaken, I thought that you had  .  .  .”

 

He stops when you begin vigorously nodding your head, already having intuited what he’s going to say.

 

“. . . several times . . . ?”

 

As you continue to nod vehemently, mewling slightly, you can see through your tears that a self-satisfied smile wants to break out on his face, but he doesn’t allow it to come to fruition.

 

“L-let me g-go please.”  It takes nearly everything you have left to form coherent sentences and you aren’t sure for how much longer you are going to be able to do that.

 

His voice is infinitely tender, but firm.  “I’m sorry, my sweet, but what kind of Daddy – not to mention dominant or lover or sometimes gentleman - would I be to you if I allowed you to run out of here in this state?”  He takes what is a small step – for him - towards you, and you take three of your own back, bringing him up short again.  “You’re obviously very afraid of something, and I was the only other person in the room.  Was I too rough with you?”  Then he asks, looking stricken, as if the idea is utterly abhorrent to him, “Have I made you afraid of _me_?”

 

This time you shake your head at both questions and just keep shaking it, burying your face in your hands, collapsing in on yourself, now entirely unable to prevent a complete and total breakdown, which you are– to your intense mortification - proceeding to have right in front of him.

 

Loki finds himself in a very unfamiliar place - at a total loss as to how to help you.  You look absolutely terrified, and he can’t find a reason why, but what he does know that there is no way that he can bear for you to have to remain like this even a second longer.

 

So he moves the way his instincts tell him to – had, indeed, been clamoring for him to since he’d first noticed you were trying to leave - lifting you and carrying you in his arms back to the bed, where he puts you down – and you immediately try to scramble away from him across its width.

 

But he is no ordinary being, and is more than fast enough to catch your slim, delicate ankle, those long fingers forming a careful cuff and begin to tug you slowly back towards him.

 

You struggle mightily against his hold at first, but he subdues you with disheartening ease – being very conscious of his strength and never hurting you, nor allowing you to hurt yourself as your fight against him, against the fact that you are being inexorably drawn back towards him.

 

In a humiliatingly short amount of time, you have to come to grips with the idea that you are never going to win against him in a war of strength.  So you go limp within the restrictions of his arms, surrounded as you are by the way he has committed his whole body to comforting – and confining - you as he leans back against the headboard.  Your head is on his chest while he holds you tightly, stroking your back and petting you, doing his best to soothe you in whatever ways he can think of that are tactile, taking the chance – although it is hard for him - and believing you that he hadn’t inspired the apprehension he has seen in you and wanting to remind you of his touch.

 

As much as you don’t want to be, you are too far gone to be able to control yourself or your wild emotions, so all you’re able to do is cry – sob, really - inconsolably.  Oh, there are a few meager attempts at further rebellion, which Loki squelches very carefully but with ridiculous ease, with no signs of impatience apparent in his actions whatsoever, just a firm determination that you aren’t going to get away from him.

 

Eventually, when you’ve calmed some, you begin to chant something under your breath, and it takes all of his listening skills, which had never been particularly good until you came into his life because he didn’t think that many Midgardians had anything of real import to say to him – and he realizes that you’re saying, “I’m sorry!  Sorry to be a bother!  Sorry!” over and over again.

 

The sound of it tugs painfully at his heart.  “Shh-shh-shh.  There’s nothing at all to apologize for, babygirl.”

 

But that doesn’t stop you in the least.

 

You don’t know for how long it goes on – but it is quite a while until you have quieted, but even then he doesn’t let you go, as you are still hiccoughing sobs and prone to lapsing back into heartrending weeping occasionally.  Every once in a while throughout your genteel captivity, you try the strength of the bonds that keep you in place – merely his arms – but they are absolutely unforgiving.

 

His face buried against the top of your head as he strokes his hand rhythmically down your arm, rocking the two of you slightly back and forth, he asks, “Are you feeling at all better?”, in a way that makes you want to believe that he isn’t anxious for you to get over this highly inconvenient and unpleasant episode, but rather in a manner that only proves that he is being the very soul of forbearance.

 

But you can’t quite get yourself there.  Surely he is growing impatient at having to hold you and comfort you for so long, at your seemingly never-ending bouts of tears when all he’d done to be consigned to so odious a task was to bring you to towering heights of ecstasy within his arms.

 

Should you dare to lie to the God of Mischief and Lies? you wonder.  It’s probably not a good idea, you concede to yourself – not that that stops you.  You’re really not in the best place to make decisions.

 

“Yes,” you whisper into his chest anyway, barely audibly.

 

His fingers are in the hair at the back of your head, and you can feel him squeeze them gently, just slightly asserting his dominance, but not taking it any further, except in his tone.

 

“Then why do I feel as if you’ve just fibbed to me, my darling love?”

 

You put your head down immediately while shifting nervously against him – your little in particular responding to the slightly stern edge in his voice - and he can feel your entire body tense, your reaction to his chastisement revealing the truth of his accusation to him in that moment.

 

“And, although I’m not happy that you just felt you could lie to me and get away with it – and there _will_ be a reckoning later for that bit of naughtiness, I promise you - I did not ask that question with the intent of making you think that you _have_ to feel better right _now_ , lovely.  I will be only too glad to hold you as long as you need me to to help you come to grips with your demons.  And, if you would but let me know that you want me to, and who or what they are, I would very gladly fight – and defeat them - all for you.”

 

His words prove that you have too little faith in him still, combined with his continued kindness and his dedication to making sure that you truly are all right – however annoying in some ways - makes the tears rise in you, and you begin to weep softly again, wishing you feel you could exert some kind – any kind – of control over your rampant emotions, but you just literally . . .   _can’t_ right now.

 

But you are incredibly grateful that he genuinely didn’t seem to worry about that at all.  He just wants to hold you and help you feel better, which only makes you feel that much guiltier at usurping all of his valuable time with this nonsense of yours.

 

So, you shove those maudlin, inexplicable, inconvenient emotions down with a tremendous effort, and force yourself to stop crying, insisting that he let go of you and struggling out of his arms at the first sign that he might actually do so – although you are very well aware that you are being _allowed_ to do so – drying your cheeks with the backs of your hands before you stand and grab your purse, again.

 

“Thank you, Daddy, for - ”  For what?  For not throwing you out because you’re a simpering, whimpering idiot?  Not banishing you to the edges of the universe for being so impossibly self-indulgent?  “ – for helping me,” you finish lamely, embarrassment fit to knock you back onto your knees settling into your mind, mixing with the remnants of sadness and fear, inspiring you to avoid his eyes, which makes him immediately suspicious of your sudden recovery.

 

Suddenly, Loki is standing next to you, looking down at you as he tips your chin up so that your eyes meet, speaking in a firmly chastening way, “Do _not_ try to trick the trickster, little miss.  You will only succeed in annoying me, and believe me, you do _not_ want to risk the health and safety of your darling little bottom by doing that – especially not since you’re already due one spanking for roughly the same kind of misbehavior.”

 

Your eyes flicker nervously away at his words but he is heartened to see no actual apprehension in them any longer.  His own were clear and intent, which sends yours back down to your feet, where they felt more comfortable, which is to say, not comfortable at all.  You are entirely too aware of him – of who and what he is – in a way you hadn’t been since you met him – vacillating back and forth between big and little – only now you already know what he can do to you, with literally devastating results.

 

All of which conspires against you to make you begin to cry softly again, and thus you end up right back where you were moments ago – held quite tightly against him while he literally surrounds you with his body on the bed.

 

“I – have t-to go h-home,” you try again through your sobs.

 

“Then I shall take you there,” Loki soothes.

 

“Alone.”

 

“No, little one,” entirely implacable.  “If I bring you there, I shall stay with you until I feel that you are all right.”

 

Trembling uncontrollably again, those long, hard arms squeeze tightly around you as you rest your damp cheek against the silky soft green pajama top he was suddenly wearing – having donned pajamas he doesn’t usually wear around you just in case his nakedness might be contributing in any way to your upset, although what had been his rampant arousal had become a thing of the past as soon as he had realized that you were crying - with a ragged, hiccoughing sigh.

 

“Do you think you can tell me what made you so afraid, babylove?” he asks when your sobs fades again, lacing his fingers with yours where they’re lying on his chest.

 

You shook your head.  “Nothing.”

 

He seems suspicious but keeps his tone light, if just barely a bit scolding.  “That was an awful lot of what appeared to be very deep fear for nothing.  You are absolutely sure that it is not me that inspired that reaction in you?”

 

“No,” your response – including a shaking head - is unhesitating and emphatic, your little reasserting herself a bit.  “Haven’ been ‘fraid uff you since a while ago – ‘n then only ‘cause I din’t know you an’ you’re big an’ . . . you know.”

 

Loki nods, his other hand playing with your hair.  Few things in his life have ever succeeded in making him feel more relieved.  “I am most gratified to hear that indeed, littlest one.  I would never want you to be afraid of me for any reason – even when you know that I am going to blister your behind, and you do know that I most definitely will be doing that at some point soon.”

 

That brings your head up sharply to find his eyes, and he doesn’t shirk from meeting yours in the least, despite his provocative statement.

 

“So . . . if you are not afraid of me, and I did nothing wrong, and I did not hurt you, that leaves only . . . the pleasure itself.”

 

At that, you shudder revealingly in his arms.

 

“It made you feel . .  . unsafe?” he inquires gently.

 

You press your forehead against his chest, trying to bury your face in it to avoid his question, but it’s too well muscled and rock hard to do anything but painfully smoosh your nose.  You know you are supposed to answer him when he asks you a question, but you can’t bring yourself to do so in this instance, which makes you whimper because you always want to please him.

 

But your Daddy is nothing if not adaptable.  He had put that rule in place so that – under normal circumstances – you knew you could not get away with simply ignoring his question.

 

This, however, is far from normal circumstances, and he is not about to cling to rules unnecessarily, especially those that might even set you back if he insisted on enforcing them.

 

Instead, a big hand reaches down to pat your bottom, which you had been embarrassed to find quite soothing when he had done it to your little the first time, after he’d had to deliver a particularly severe punishment to your little that you honestly thought had – almost - been harder for him to administer than for you to receive.

 

“Listen to my voice, angel,” he intones quietly. “I understand that you can’t talk right now, but I am extra proud of you because I know you’re trying to obey me and answer me.”

 

That calms you down a lot, because you hate the idea that he might not be happy with you at all times.

 

“Tell me if I am wrong, sweetness, this is not the first time something like this has happened to you.  Am I correct?”

 

You hesitate for a long moment, then nod slowly as he squeezes you.

 

“Good girl.  So this is just the first time that it has happened with me,” he states, wanting you to confirm what he’s said.

 

More, timid nodding, as your demeanor changes a bit more, as if you’re shrinking in his arms, and you find you can’t help but cling to him.

 

“Does this kind of thing happen when you are big, too?”  He knows that it has never happened when you’ve been with him – he certainly would have remembered it.  “Perhaps much less often?”

 

“Da- Daddy?”  Your little voice is much rougher and huskier than usual, probably from the crying earlier.

 

Loki leans you back to cradle you in the crook of his arm so that he can see your eyes.  You have a fistful of the top of the pajamas he’s wearing in one hand, the back of the other is rubbing slowly against your cheek, which he recognizes as a self-soothing habit of yours when Littlest is uncertain or feeling unsafe.  “Yes, my most darling love?” he asks, realizing starkly that he would give almost anything if he could make you always feel completely and totally safe with him.

 

You avoid his eyes, and he is on a bit of alert as to just what you are going to say.

 

“I -” your volume is reduced to a whisper as you shake your head exaggeratedly, “I don’ wanna talk ‘bout this, pease.”

 

Not only did he understand just how hard it was for you to ask him for _anything_ – you almost never did in any incarnation of yourself - but Loki could also feel the previous nervousness and fear creeping back into your body, which he does not want, but he _does_ want more information about what had just happened to you, in hopes of knowing how to deal with it better if – although he suspects _when_ would be more accurate - it happens again.

 

He brushes the hair from your eyes, cupping your cheek tenderly in his big hand.  “I understand that, sweetest, I do.  I just want to ask you a couple more questions, and then we will go do something fun together, okay?”

 

Loki feels you begin to tense again at his words, shaking your head again.  “Don’t want somefing fun.  Wanna be with you.”

 

“We will do whatever you would like to do, babylove,” he reassures gently.  “But can you be brave for just a bit longer and answer some of Daddy’s questions?” he asks, knowing he is pushing you, demanding more than you really wanted to give him right now, and he hopes what he’s doing isn’t going to cause any damage – to you _or_ your relationship with him - but he feels it is important that he has as much information as he can possibly get from you about what you were feeling and what you might have happened. 

 

Then he adds quickly, “I want you to know, though, and believe me when I say that you are _always_ my good girl, and I will _always_ love and be so very proud of you, whether or not you can help me more than you already have.”  He sits you up at bit very carefully then, catching your chin in his fingers and making you look at him.  “Do you understand what I’m saying, little one?”

 

You nod your head bigly, if a bit reluctantly.  “Yes, Daddy.  Imma help.”

 

He smiles softly at you, love shining out at you from his eyes and his face and the very obvious protectiveness of his body that is still surrounding you as you sit between his legs.  “Thank you, my brave babygirl.”  Then he makes sure you are comfortable again, curled up against him, your hand gripping a fistful of his shirt again, your cheek laid against his chest as he wraps his strong arms around you.

 

“This happens to Big, too?” he asks again gently.

 

He didn’t demand an answer from you in any way, but instead waits patiently for you to decide for yourself when and how you want to respond to him.

 

Your tentative, “Yes, Sir,” comes as you are quite literally clinging to him, pressing yourself against him as is if you want to disappear into him, making his heart clench and ache at how hard this is for you.

 

“It’s the same for her, too?  Scary?”

 

“Uh-huh.”  Suddenly, you sit up more and he lets you - although he keeps you within the protective circle of his embrace - and he knows he’s lost Littlest, for the moment, at least, but that’s okay, because your Big might be able to provide him with more of the information he so desperately wants.

 

But you look just as stricken as she does; you’re just better able to handle it after having been given some time and distance in which to come to grips with the trauma.  “It’s . . . very overwhelming sometimes, and this was . . . one of those times.”

 

“Can you tell me what happens, my love?” His arms bring you more closely against him, trying to offer you as much support as he can, but feeling how rigid your entire body remains, even with the safety of his arms.

 

You don’t answer his question directly because there’s something you feel you have to say to him first, craning your head back to meet his eyes.  “I want you to know that it’s . . . it’s not you that I’m afraid of, Daddy.  _Absolutely not_.”

 

“Thank you for telling me that, my love.”  He is so glad to hear that – and now both of you have said it he feels quite a bit better - but he still just holds you, trying not to interrupt or pressure you in any way, just letting you talk it out. 

 

“I don’t know what it is about it, but it’s the experience itself – the whole orgasm thing - that triggers my fear sometimes, and it’s just horrid, because what you give to me when you make me cum is always wonderfully positive and unutterably ecstatic and blissful and all of those incredibly good things, and –” your voice catches as you tense even further, “ – I don’t want to have those feelings, especially not at such a special time!  I don’t!”  Your arms creep up around his neck and he holds you close, rubbing your back slowly up and down.

 

“I know, my darling, I know.”

 

Loki could not only hear the anguish in your words, but he could also hear the truth in them, and it soothes the somewhat bruised ego he is desperately trying not to end up with out of this, although he is also hyper aware, at the same time, that his is _not about him_. 

 

When you are more relaxed, you continue, from your spot nestled in his arms.  “But it causes absolutely out of control emotions – they - they make me want to run and hide – to be alone, where I feel safe.  Safer,” you correct.  “When it comes down to it, I’m afraid of the experience, and the emotions it inspires, not you.”

 

He frowns deeply as a thought occurs to him suddenly.  “Someone in your past used this kind of pleasure to hurt you somehow, or perhaps forced it on you, making you fear it sometimes to the point that you become nearly catatonic.”

 

You studiously avoid his eyes as you feel _his_ entire body becoming stiff beneath you with that realization, the hands that had been rubbing themselves over you so soothingly instead forming big, threatening fists that he moves carefully away from you so that you won’t feel threatened by them in any way, and you know that his protective instincts are running rampant through him, and even though your Big knows that his anger is not aimed at you in any way, Littlest decides to appear at that very inopportune moment.

 

Loki’s mind is filled with the desire for retribution against that nameless someone, so much so that it is very nearly all he can think about, until he hears you whimper and feels you clutching spasmodically at him, when he immediately takes a deep breath and literally forces himself to stand down, because you need him - _you_ are his priority right now - and always – not the revenge he so desperately wants to take against whoever it is that dared to hurt you.  And he is terribly afraid that whatever it was that happened in your past occurred at Littlest’s tender age, and it takes every, single bit of his considerable will to tamp down those very powerful feelings of wanting to physically rip someone to shreds with his bare hands, but he knows he has to.

 

For you.

 

He will do literally _anything_ , for you, so he does what he needs to, relaxing completely and gathering you to him.

 

“Thank you for being so candid with me, my precious girl.”

 

“Welcome,” you whisper, shrinking again, more visibly, within the confines of his embrace, nearly reducing him to tears because he had wondered if your little might be scared of him after this because of what he had deduced about her.

 

But instead you plaster yourself to him as you had been before Big had taken over to answer for you when you literally couldn’t. 

 

“What a brave girl you are!” he enthuses.  “Thank you for talking to me – I know it was very hard to do!”  He hugs you tight, then moving a bit away to look you in the eye, and, giving you his most Daddiest, assessing expression, he asks, “Are you okay, bittiest?”

 

You nod slowly, although you’re still glommed onto him.  “Uh huh.”

 

“Excellent!  We could go to the Galapagos and walk amongst the iguanas and tortoises there?  Or to Hawaii to play on the beach and swim in the ocean?  Or go see some panda bears in China, perhaps?”

 

You surprise him by shaking your head just as vehemently at all of those suggestions. 

 

“What would you like, then, little love?  You may have anything your big heart desires for being such a strong, brave little girl for me.”

 

You lean upwards and he leans down so that you can whisper into his ear, and he has to smile at your request.  Having laid the world at your feet – you could have asked him to go to Disney World or on a tour of the world’s best carousels or to swim with the dolphins and been any of those places in an instant – all things he knew you really wanted to do  – gone absolutely anywhere and done absolutely anything.

 

But what you ask him to do is exactly what you’ve done innumerable times before, and he does so this time as joyfully and lovingly as he always has, paying particular attention to every one of the rituals he’s established for you when you’re with him doing this specific activity, knowing that the routine – all of those “little” touches - will help you feel safer, too - the first of which is to get you dressed appropriately to do so.

 

“Are you sure that this is what you want to do, lovely?” he asks, lifting you up and placing you down on your side of the bed – doing so without so much as a thought as to how much you weigh, which is nothing to him anyway.  It makes you feel just that much smaller with him when he does that, and he knows how much you love it – once he got you over the idea that it would ever hurt him to pick you up. 

 

The side of the bed that you sleep on has actually changed since your little became a part of the equation, because Loki had very diligently coaxed out of her – in the course of one of his conversations with her – that she would feel better – safer - if he slept between her and the bedroom door, which was something, frankly, that he wished he’d thought of before.

 

“Yes, pease, Daddy.”

 

“Well, then, let’s get you out of these much-too-adult-for-babygirls clothes, shall we, and into some warm, snuggly jammies.”

 

He proceeds to undress you, doing everything himself and not letting you help at all, even using a bare minimum of magic – really just enough to disappear your silk shirt and bra, as well as the slim skirt and thong panties in which you had come to him late this morning.

 

Then he turns away from you to the small, princessy dresser he’d gifted you with not long ago, taking out the aforementioned jammies, as well as a pair of underpants with pink and purple butterflies on them and a set of matching pink fuzzy slipper socks to keep your feet warm.

 

But when he turns to walk back to you, you’re not where he left you, but instead are standing at the big basket, on the floor near the end of your bed, where your growing collection of stuffies live.

 

“Littlest,” he chides mildly, that tone making your feet dance impatiently as you rummage more haphazardly through them to find what you want, knowing that if you take too long, he won’t hesitate to simply pluck you away from there, probably delivering a sharp swat to your behind for having left the position he’d put you in, too.

 

“No – but – Daddy – I needa find Arielle!” 

 

“Quickly, baby.”

 

“Foun’ ‘er!” you crow triumphantly, clutching the bear into your arms and dancing hurriedly – and nakedly – back over to where he is standing.

 

“Where should that cute little tush of yours be, little miss, instead of wandering off from where your Daddy put you?”

 

Your fingers go to twirl a lock of your hair apprehensively at his gentle reprimand, your gaze skittering to his tentatively then away as you slip in front of him to lie back down on the bed, Arielle clasped tightly to you.

 

“And how is our Miss Arielle feeling today, hmmm?” he asks, leaning down to pick up one of your feet, place it against his chest, then tuck it into the pink fuzzy slipper socks he’s made sure are nicely warm for you, then repeating the same actions for the other foot.

 

“See’s fine, Daddy, but she’s kina crushed – she was onna bottom of the pile!”

 

Then he reaches for the panties he brought, and, upon seeing them, you can’t help but whisper-whine, shaking your head emphatically, “Not those ones, Daddy!”

 

“Yes, darling girl,” he replies firmly.  “You’ve had a hard day, and we need to be prepared if you should have an accident – which is fine – but since you _have_ training pants, I think you should wear them so that you have a bit of extra protection against that.”

 

It isn’t as if you really have a choice.  If your Daddy wants you to wear them, then that is what you will wear, but being put into them by him, even as gently as he does it – leaving a loud raspberry on your belly as he pulls them up, makes you clutch Arielle just that much more tightly, unwanted tears filling your eyes and leaking silently out the sides.

 

Some daddies might not notice that you are upset, and even if they did, they might think that it’s such a small thing that it’s not worth addressing, but not your Daddy.  He notices everything about you, and isn’t about to disregard or discount any of your feelings.

 

So he leans over all of you, the height difference between you making that very easy for him to do and making you feel just that much tinier as he lays a forearm on either side of you.  “Why the tears, Littlest?”   His tone is as gentle as it could possibly be.  “I want this to be a happy and relaxed time for you – a reward for being such a good girl and talking about hard stuff with me.”

 

You want to fidget, but you really can’t, because he’s holding you in place, so you do what you can, putting Arielle in a strangle hold, biting your lip, and avoiding his eyes.

 

Loki is still not of a mind at the moment to punish you for – again - not answering his question, although he is not usually so lenient.  But your reluctance to discuss the reason why you’re crying – although not alarmingly so, he is glad to see – has given him an insight into what the cause might be. 

 

So, instead, he uses his long fingers to delicately brush away each tear as he sees it appear, and when he speaks, he is very careful to keep his tone very tender and loving.

 

“Do you remember what we talked about when I gave you your training pants, angel?”

 

That made you try to wiggle out from under him even more actively, not that you got anywhere for your efforts. 

 

He waits much longer than you expected him to for you to reply, then, when his patience is exhausted, he doesn’t say anything, but rather, cradles your face in his hands so that you have to look at him, and what you see there in his eyes is more than enough to get you to answer.

 

Your response is barely above a whisper.  “Yes, Sir.”

 

“And what did I say to you then, hmmmm?”

 

His fingers brush gently over your cheeks, but you know better than to look away from him when he’s speaking to you like this.

 

You sigh anxiously, which he notes, but you still answer him, however reluctantly.  “That ’m not as big as I think I am, ‘specially not wiv you.”

 

His warm smile makes you let go of the stress that had crept back into you, and he can feel that.  “Exactly, my smart girl!  And that is perfectly _wonderful_ – you know I will always adore you at any age you are, yes?”

 

You nod almost solemnly, with absolutely no doubt in your mind as to the truth of his words.

 

“But littler girls are prone to having accidents, my love, and I know that if you ended up wet it would be very upsetting for you.  So, when I think you might need them, you’re going to be put into your training pants, because that’s what Daddy thinks is the best thing for you – to be littler and not have to worry about such things, because your Daddy’s already taken care of that for you, as he should.”

 

One of his hands travels down to pat your bottom where it’s covered a little bit more thickly than usual.

 

“And why does your Daddy do things like this for you, I wonder?”  he asks, as a finger of that hand reaches deliberately beneath the nearest leg opening, brushing gently over the soft folds he finds there and making you catch your breath, continuing to simply stroke the edge of his finger over you, not probing, not exploring, simply touching.

 

But still, it’s making you squirm, and forget how to speak.  “C – cause you l-luff me?”

 

“I do, my dearest little girl.  I _absolutely_ do.”  He leaves off teasing you – but not before he notices that his finger is already covered in your sweet honey - not wanting to chance bringing you back to that bad place you were at before, kissing your forehead dotingly, then levering himself up to gather each leg of your jammies in his big hands to unfurl them onto your legs, lifting you easily to scootch them under your butt, then settling them around your waist before helping you sit up so that he could put the top on over your head.

 

“There you are.  I’ll turn on _Finding Nimbus_ -”

 

“Nemo!” you correct him with a giggle, because he always gets it wrong.

 

“Nemo,” he grins, loving that you’re laughing, having hoped his “error” might bring a smile to your face.  “You stay right here and watch and I shall go get us some of your favorite snacks, and I will be right back.”

 

Loki turns to head out the bedroom door, but almost as soon as he does, you scramble off the bed and run to him to tuck your hand into his.  He gives you a bit of a surprised look to find you there, then realizes that you didn’t want to be alone.  So instead, he reaches down to pick you up and settles you on his hip, and you both go get supplies.

 

A little while later, you’re again curled up on his lap.  On the bed, there’s a tray to one side of the two of you with a bowl full of cinnamon Jelly Belly jellybeans and another one of the lemon ones, as well as a bowl of pink princess Goldfish, along with an enormous bowl of buttery microwave popcorn for him, from which he feeds you frequently by his own hand as you lean your back against his chest, one of his arms always wrapped securely around your waist, which helps you continue to feel safe.

 

Your sippy cup is full of your favorite flavor of soda, which you’re not often allowed because Daddy doesn’t think that it’s good for you.  He’s just decided you should start using one of those, too, because of frequent spills, although he has never scolded you when that happens. Mostly you have it because your Daddy thinks that, as you become more used to having a Daddy, you are getting younger rather than older like everyone else.  And on the wall-sized screen is a movie you’ve – and thus he’s – seen at least a hundred times - _The Wizard of Oz_ \- which you love so much that it makes you cry every time you see it, but you like to sing along with it, too. 

 

And, even though you cringe against him whenever the Wicked Witch of the West appears, he always cuddles you to him, reassuring you that his magicks are much, much more powerful than even the Great and Powerful Oz’s, and that you have nothing to fear from either of them - or the winged monkeys, or the witch’s soldiers - and that he will defend you against all of them with his very life.

 

And, as always, full of entirely too much junk food, and also, probably, because of the emotionally exhausting events of the day, you fall asleep lying against him well before Dorothy makes it back to Kansas, undeniably safe and sound, to be tucked into bed next to your doting Daddy with a reverent kiss on your cheek and a gentle caress of his hand over your hair while he remains awake, working on projects that are quiet, so they won’t wake you, and keeping a vigilant eye on you in case you should have a nightmare because of what you’d just gone through. 

 

What you’ll never know is that he reaches out frequently to adjust the bedclothes over you, or pat your bottom gently if you’re restless, which seems to settle you down nicely and send you back into a deep, untroubled sleep beside him.


End file.
